


Midi and D'Or

by Aurelia_Combeferre



Series: A Coterie that Became Historic -the 1830s AU [6]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: EnjonineWeek2019, F/M, Food, midi, prompt 5: shifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 23:50:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20218324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurelia_Combeferre/pseuds/Aurelia_Combeferre
Summary: The old clash between Northern and Southern France, in culinary form





	Midi and D'Or

**(Prompt 5: Shifts) Midi and D’Or**

In a group as large and garrulous as the Amis del’ABC and their loved ones and associates, it was not unusual to have debates regarding all matters regional, be it in politics, art or food. “All this culinary rivalry leads to full stomachs and heightened senses!” Grantaire declared one evening over a hearty repast of chicken _a la basiquaise_ that Feuilly and his partner Leonor Torres had somehow thrown together as part of the latest series of challenges in their coterie. “We need not book the diligences to get the pleasures of the Midi.” 

“It might be easier to do so; you have no idea how difficult it was for Azelma and me to put together that cake last week,” Jehan pointed out.

“But it was fun and now I know why it is called a Kings of Bordeaux Cake,” Azelma chimed in. Her usually grave eyes were merry as she reached for her glass of wine. “So, which of us is cooking next time around?”

“Well Courfeyrac graced us with a stuffed fowl, Combeferre and Claudine brought over a _cassoulet_ with the best beans, while I helped Therese make that exquisite truffled chicken from her mother’s Lyonnaise recipe…” Bahorel began.

“Don’t forget the eel stew that Bossuet and Marthe made; it almost burned down our kitchen and all of Rue Ferou,” Musichetta added, rolling her eyes. “And of course the pudding that Joly and I made, also from another old recipe.”

“Or of course the jam puffs that Cosette made,” Eponine chimed in. “I don’t think any of us had anything as nice from a home kitchen before.”

“The best yet!” Bossuet said, raising a glass. “So when are you going to show off your culinary prowess, Grantaire? Or is it limited only to eating?”

“I am not the only one who has yet to pull the bow of Odysseus,” Grantaire quipped, glancing around the table to the one person who had remained relatively taciturn throughout the meal. “Or should I say, the bow of Apollo?”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting something, Capital R?”

“Then if I cannot appeal to Apollo, what then to Artemis?” Grantaire asked, looking at Eponine knowingly.

‘_You don’t have to do it,’ _Enjolras thought frantically, but the smile spreading across Eponine’s face and reaching her eyes was already telling of her answer to this challenge. “I hope then that in due time, you will come up with your own efforts, Grantaire,” he simply said dryly.

“He will have to try to outdo us,” Eponine said. Yet even so her fingers met Enjolras’ own, prompting him to clasp her hand under the table.

**

The rest of their merry supper proceeded in the way most other gatherings in their coterie did, with everyone making their way home just past ten in the evening. All throughout the walk home, Enjolras could not help but notice how silent Eponine was. “Are you well?” he asked.

Eponine shrugged. “I s’pose I am, I just have a bit to think about.”

“Grantaire’s challenge?”

“How did you know?”

“It is the only unusual thing that happened to us this evening,” he deadpanned. “I know it is all in good fun, but was it necessary?”

Eponine let out a deep sigh. “You know what they say about me, that I can’t cook the things you liked growing up back in Aix. Well you know a good many of our friends are from the Midi and I don’t want to look like a silly.”

“Does that matter?”

“Because I’m Parisian. You know how some people think of Parisian cooks.”

“What if you don’t have to make something I liked?” Enjolras suggested. ‘_Because frankly I do not remember paying very much attention to that growing up,’ _he almost said but for the still pensive look on Eponine’s face. “Maybe something from when you were younger?”

“What, from the inn?” Eponine shook her head and burst out laughing. “No, no! Maman made do with what she could make quickly. You know how people can be at an inn.”

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face from his own recollections of eating while traveling. “Then what did you have in mind?” he asked, touching her shoulder.

Eponine sighed again even as she leaned into his hand. “I don’t know. I s’pose I shall think of something, I know I will!” She paused as they arrived at the doorway of their home on the Rue Guisarde. “But enough of that for now,” she added before pulling him in for a kiss.

**

For the next few days, Enjolras thought that Eponine had forgotten about the challenge entirely, especially considering the number of urgent matters that came up at their respective workplaces and at home. However some five evenings later, he came home to find the house all bright, as if in preparation for a gathering. Eponine’s young brothers were doing their assignments in the front room, but were already dressed as if to receive guests. “Ponine is cooking something special!” Neville, the second youngest of the Thenardier boys, greeted Enjolras cheerily.

“Something with vegetables again,” Jacques, the youngest Thenardier boy, chimed in with a frown of disgust.

“Oh you just are eating too many of the sweet things,” Gavroche chided. He saluted Enjolras. “So this palace will go topsy turvy!”

“I should hope not,” Enjolras replied as he took off his coat and hung it on a hook near the door. The mingled bouquets of garlic and tomato were thick in the air, especially near the kitchen. “Eponine, what are you doing?” he asked a little worriedly.

“Something I heard of from a story about a cook trying to impress a pope,” Eponine replied breathlessly from where she was pushing some chopped eggplant through a sieve. She added milk and eggs to the vegetable mix and poured it into a mold, which she then stuck into a large pan to boil. “The pope was from Avignon but the cook was from Provence I s’pose.”

“I see,” Enjolras remarked; this story was not too familiar to him so he just simply chose not to inquire. Yet even so, the heady aroma of the food had him loth to leave the kitchen, more so when he had a good view of Eponine starting to prepare the tomato sauce for the meal. “Anything that needs to be done?”

Eponine bit her lip for a moment. “I s’pose just to get the wine and cheese in order. I’m not so much good with picking this stuff.”

“We have wine and cheese?”

“I stopped by the Halles Aux Vins.”

Enjolras bemusedly went to the larder, where he found some large pieces of Brie cheese from one of the better shops in Paris, as well as some wine he recognized from a vineyard in the Suresnes, west of the city. ‘_A bit from here, a bit from far away,’ _he thought as he brought out the wine and cheese to arrange near the dining table.

By the time he was done readying the dining room, Eponine was already leaving the kitchen to freshen up. He caught her gaze and nodded confidently, only to have her return his smile. “It will be well,” he said, earning a laugh from her before she headed upstairs.


End file.
